


Birds

by mjartrod



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2020 Season, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, Self-Doubt, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjartrod/pseuds/mjartrod
Summary: A solo ride to the mountains in Switzerland on a summer day.Set before the Racing Point announcement.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	Birds

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for this fandom, had to get this one out of my system. Inspired by the song “Birds” by Imagine Dragons.
> 
> No beta and not a native speaker, apologies in advance for any mistakes!

Sunshine.  
  
He removes the pair of Ray Ban and tilts his head back, feeling the warmth on his face. Summer has well and truly arrived in the Swiss mountains. 

Tentatively, he opens his eyes but it’s impossible to do more than some uncomfortable blinking under that blinding sunlight. Putting the sunglasses back on it is then, and he glances over his shoulder at the beautiful Vincent Black Shadow behind him. The perfect day to bring it out for a ride.

The helmet is well balanced on the seat; he lays the gloves and leather jacket next to it.

Hands in the pockets of the light grey hoodie, he leaves the motorbike on the side of the scenic road and approaches the edge of the hill to the sound of his trainers stepping on grass and gravel. He knows what the most popular biking and hiking routes are, of course; also the ones hardly used for one reason or another. And this one, despite its beauty, is still a hidden treasure. As a result, there’s nothing around him but nature and virgin mountains.  
  
No people. No facemasks.   
  
The stunning valley that stretches in front of his eyes is a carpet of luscious green velvet framed at the top by the deep blue sky. The Alps ahead stand proudly, shiny snow on the summits reflecting brilliant light. There’s less and less of it with each passing year, he notices. He takes a deep, long breath and for a moment it feels like the sound of it alone could echo in the vast landscape.  
  
When he closes his eyes, though, it's not an echo in the mountains he hears but the loud engine of a racing car in his head, whizzing past. He can literally feel his skin breaking in goosebumps.

  
  


Sebastian often wondered in the past if he truly knew what fear meant. If he’d ever felt it.  
  
There had been moments, not many, but there had been moments in his life when he didn’t want to get in the car on a race week. Like after Jules’ accident. But he didn’t really think that was fear. When Emilie was born, the world had seemed to expand somehow and there were suddenly cracks and fragilities that he'd never been aware of before. But he wasn’t sure whether that was fear either. Perhaps he’d just been lucky that he never got any reason to have the seed of fear planted in his heart.  
  
Likewise, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever experienced what it was like to lose control entirely (maybe over his temper once in awhile, when he’s not too stubborn to deny it). Because he’s always been fairly good at making assessments and reaching conclusions, he doesn’t often get caught in surprise. 

As it goes, Ferrari not wanting him anymore was also not a surprise. 

No matter what he tells everyone else - no matter what he tells _himself_ \- he saw it coming, had for awhile. Among the array of emotions he’s gone through, surprise wasn’t truly one of them. But he has a role to play, so he does.  
  
What Sebastian simply struggles to understand is why, of all things, it is this leaving him so disoriented. Everything spinning out of control.

Maybe because it forces him towards a direction he desperately does not want to take, which he can’t accept yet. Has he reached his expiry date in this sport? He refuses to accept this. No matter what others claim, no matter the obstacles, _he_ does _not_ believe this. 

The fact that he clings to this belief like a drowning man to a lifebuoy hasn’t escaped him, though.  
  
Maybe this is how Mark felt as Sebastian soared at Red Bull. Is this unceremonious dismissal making him afraid he’s in denial? He had always excelled at winning battles against self-doubt. Why is it so hard now? Is _this_ fear?  
  
He glances around, looking for somewhere it might be more comfortable to sit down. It feels as if the mere idea of having to overcome doubt automatically drains him. Stepping towards the cliff, he crouches down on the edge and perches on a flat rock. He can’t see the bottom below and his feet are dangling. He instinctively swings his legs and it makes him smile.   
  
A flock of birds appear from one side, flying over the valley. The sky is so clear, contrasts so crisp that at certain points he can even spot the small shadows on the grass under them. They look like alpine swifts but Sebastian can’t be sure from this distance. He observes them with awe and respect in equal measure, marvels at how well they work in formation. Something in his chest tightens again. He dips his head forward and pulls his knees up, circling them with his arms. 

He let them all down. At the garage. 

He wanted to lead them in his belief they would get that championship. It was like an unspoken promise that they’d get there. Over the years, he has been carrying the weight of everyone’s hopes, not just his own. Do they look at him now and see nothing but a fraud? Does anyone still believe him at all? 

_Bullshit._ He shakes his head. It’s all he does these days, arguing with himself. He lays out in detail, as if in a debrief, reasons such as the fact that he's made many friends there or how he is only the driver, one fraction of the team which is an entity so much bigger than himself. Winning and losing together, it’s what they always say, it’s a collective effort.

But no matter how many explanations he brings up, Sebastian can never manage to truly convince himself. 

Granted, he never coped well with failure. For sure he had failed at plenty in his life but not at the most important and never at the most meaningful. It was a privilege to have achieved goal after goal, dream after dream. No victory was ever taken for granted either and every achievement was celebrated as if it would be his very last because he knows that one day you’re at the top of the world and the next one you’re not worth the sole of a shoe, it’s a ruthless world. He's grateful - and relieved - to have savoured every moment.

Not that it makes it easier now. 

Usually when an extra motivational kick was necessary, Sebastian used to recall the young boy in a kart, the young boy who grew up dreaming of driving the red car. He would race for him and his dream. It crushed him to realise he had failed the little boy, too. 

He presses his forehead against his knees and swallows, then leans his head back again and stares at the sky because suddenly it’s become so difficult to breathe. 

It’s only the future that is supposed to change but everything already feels irrevocably turned upside down.

A gleam of light flashes somewhere in the valley; there is a small group of hikers making their way across, it seems. They hold his attention for a few moments and it’s too far to be able to see faces, but all of a sudden it seems like they’re staring up, in his direction. One of the guys lifts an arm and waves at him and Sebastian grins, returning the gesture and giving them a thumbs up. It’s the first time he sees other people nearby. They carry on. 

Maybe they were tourists. Or just locals training, who knows. Life goes on, after all, and he feels a tinge of embarrassment for almost allowing himself to suffocate in a well of insecurity and negativity.

By now he’s had time to digest the bitter pill that he was prescribed to swallow. And to face the fact that his reality at the Scuderia was never meant to match the dream of his childhood. It never really existed, in the first place, it was just that - a boy’s silly dream of a red car. It never materialised. Worn down by attempts, by the pressure increasing, finding himself excusing things he deep down knew he wouldn’t in another team. Mistakes after mistakes. Reasons, well, there might be many for why it didn’t happen but they weren’t so important anymore. He could deal with the heartbreaks but along the way there’s only so much trust that can remain. And once Kimi left, the clouds turned darker, more and more fissures appearing until the inevitable arrived. 

As if it wasn’t enough, the current season is a shambles, too. Nothing works. If at any point he deluded himself into believing that the worst of this year was past him - he had been sorely mistaken. It was like crossing new thresholds of torture every week. Challenging every sliver of faith and belief that remained.

He is no longer sure what is cause and what is consequence. It would be nice to be able to focus on the work itself, because fuck knows there is so much of it, but he’s plagued constantly by how pointless all of it feels to him at the end of the day. On the outside he still tries, he still fights, he wants so hard to remain committed and carry on as usual because _only the future will change_ , he reminds himself, and he owes it to the people who were always there to help him. It’s a matter of dignity.

But of course it wouldn’t be as simple as that. 

He can't make it work and therefore, all his efforts are rewarded with nothing but reminders of his failures and inadequacies and he can see it every time he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Sometimes the stupid mask feels almost as a blessing but not even that is enough to shield him from prying eyes in the paddock. The constant firing of questions from the media isn’t so difficult to deal with, he does most of it on autopilot by now so in that regard he can't say it has gotten worse. But they certainly don’t help.

He wonders, not for the first time, whether _they_ are gleeful over his woes and are trying their best to crush him under the weight of their history, where many other champions were buried before - but then he also wonders whether they simply don’t care at all. He doesn’t know which of the two hurts more.

So much for the lauded German efficiency and rationality. He’s been guided (and sometimes misguided) by passion and emotions his entire life. People have told him he cries too much; that he is too tactile. But he doesn’t know any different. It's his nature.

He doesn’t really feel anymore that he was used and dumped, he’s slowly getting past that stage, so that’s good, and he’s confident that soon he will also be able to separate the bad things in this chapter from the love he knows he will always hold for Ferrari. He is also sure that the amazing memories that he stored over the years will override the misery of the present and his yearning of being able to leave immediately. Not that he ever wanted to leave, of course, it is the current situation he wishes he could just leave behind, he can’t stand the drag. But sadly at the moment they go hand in hand. 

In the end there are truly no regrets for the decision he made years ago nor does he think it's all been a waste of his time. When the dust settles, he will be able to look back at the good moments and at his experience with fondness. He doesn’t know how long it will take, but he will get there.

Sebastian wonders as well how long until he figures out how to readjust his life. 

Readjust to a different team and their appealing project; or indeed readjust to retirement.

The birds are back. They are flying in different directions, obviously happy with so much freedom, revelling and delighting in all the options. 

So many roads in front of him, too. It’s easy to forget so when you’re focused on a single goal and all energies are channeled there. 

Has the red car always been the only goal, though? Along the way and throughout the years, his childhood dream has evolved. It matured and grew up as he did, it turned into something much more real and palpable. The dream may have been the inspiration and he could never forget about it and would never let it go. But among countless precious moments and wins and victories, not one had felt any less special by not wearing red. And the ones in red were just as incredible. 

He doesn’t want to wither away in struggles and frustrations on an endless downward spiral. He’s already there, in fact, in that turmoil. And he knows he can’t do this forever. He doesn’t even want to attempt it. Can he do it? Get out of it? He wants to feel pride again, that reward of hard work towards a goal, let the whirlwind that only that sense of achievement can cause overwhelm him. He wants to _win_ . How much does he want it? How much is he willing to risk for it? Does he still have _it_? Or would he be setting himself for more disappointment and heartbreak? How much of that can he still handle before he breaks down completely and irreparably? Is there such a line, even? Does he want to risk knowing if there is one? How much would be worth sacrificing for that? How much more travelling and time away from home?

His gaze falls to his hands and he realises he’s been playing with his wedding ring. He can physically feel the muscles of his face softening, his jaw relaxing as he looks at the golden band around his finger. He is proud of his work ethic and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for this sport and for the people he works with. But when he is off, he is off. That separation, the personal, mental space and the option to switch off was just as invaluable to him as his principles. 

He slides the wedding ring off his finger to look at it for the umpteenth time and turns it a few times before slipping it back on and taking his left hand closed in a fist to his mouth. He presses his lips to the ring and closes his eyes.

There is no reason to feel disoriented or as if the rug was pulled from under his feet. _This_ is his ground. Everything else fits around it. He’s blessed, so incredibly fortunate he could dissolve in pure laughter, in disbelief at how lucky he got. _Idiot_. Whenever he bemoans losing his way, losing control... he’s wrong.

This is what gives his life balance. He never lost anything and the floor hasn't crumbled beneath his feet.

And no matter what happens, no matter what direction he chooses - because he knows what he _wants_ , and he knows what he can do, he just needs to relearn to trust himself again - he knows they will be there for him.  
  
They will be waiting for him. 

They will love him unconditionally.

He stands up and quickly pats his hands on his jeans, suddenly anxious to return. He turns to head over to the motorbike, leaving the valley behind him without looking back, the birds flying high.   
  


  
_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> "Birds"  
> Imagine Dragons
> 
> Two hearts, one valve  
> Pumpin' the blood, we were the flood  
> We were the body and  
> Two lives, one life  
> Stickin' it out, lettin' you down  
> Makin' it right
> 
> Seasons, they will change  
> Life will make you grow  
> Dreams will make you cry, cry, cry  
> Everything is temporary  
> Everything will slide  
> Love will never die, die, die
> 
> I know that  
> Ooh, birds fly in different directions  
> Ooh, I hope to see you again
> 
> Sunsets, sunrises  
> Livin' the dream, watchin' the leaves  
> Changin' the seasons  
> Some nights I think of you  
> Relivin' the past, wishin' it'd last  
> Wishin' and dreamin'
> 
> Seasons, they will change  
> Life will make you grow  
> Death can make you hard, hard, hard  
> Everything is temporary  
> Everything will slide  
> Love will never die, die, die
> 
> I know that  
> Ooh, birds fly in different directions  
> Ooh, I hope to see you again  
> Ooh, birds fly in different directions  
> Ooh, so fly high, so fly high
> 
> When the moon is lookin' down  
> Shinin' light up on your ground  
> I'm flyin' up to let you see  
> That the shadow cast is me
> 
> I know that  
> Ooh, birds fly in different directions  
> Ooh, I hope to see you again  
> Ooh, birds fly in different directions  
> Ooh, so fly high, so fly high  
> Ooh, so fly high, so fly high  
> Ooh, so fly high, so fly high


End file.
